Trick-Or-Treat

It was obvious who was the most excited about Halloween at our house. Me.

It wasn't even a contest.

Sure, Aidan was happy to be wearing a fireman costume though I don't think he understood why he was wearing it. Personally I think he just liked wearing the soft felt fireman hat.

But me? I've wanted to take Aidan trick-or-treating since he was born.

A few ghosts and goblins had come to the door while I was taking pictures of Aidan in his costume. Aidan wanted some of the candy that was being passed out but I told him he'd have plenty in just a few minutes.

So after a few pictures, Aidan and I walked into the darkness. (In the Halloween spirit, I did dress up. I put on my Detroit Tiger baseball cap I as walked out the door. I called my costume The Biggest Loser.)

Aidan seemed impressed that there were kids all over the neighborhood running around dressed up. He kept looking at them with big eyes each time a group of them would pass up.

We stopped at the first house. A nice lady answered the door. I told Aidan to say "Trick or Treat." Aidan started at the woman blankly. She told Aidan he had a cute costume and gave him a piece of candy. "Say 'Thank you,'" I told Aidan. Aidan waved goodbye to the lady who, in turn, waved back.

By the fourth house, Aidan had the hang of it. He'd stare blankly at who ever opened the door but had learned to take the piece of candy and put it in his bag then wave goodbye as we walked down the sidewalk. When we reached the next house, Aidan perked up when I knocked on the door and smiled at the prospect of more candy.

It took us 30 minutes to comb the neighborhood -- about fifteen homes -- because Aidan wanted to walk from house to house. When we returned home, Aidan had enough candy in his bag that he had a hard time lifting it off the sidewalk. (All of our wonderful neighbors it seems wanted to add an extra piece of candy for me. Apparently the Detroit Tiger had garnered a lot of sympathy.) I offered to help him carry it home but Aidan was insistent that he and he alone carry it.

Back at home we gave Aidan a couple of pieces of candy. He seemed fairly pleased with the whole evening.

I was too.

I love being a dad.

Feats of Strength

Reached a milestone in my weight lifting routine this morning. I can now bench press 75 percent of my body weight.

And this isn't something I struggle to do once. I can do three sets of ten reps with a 60 second break between each set.

For most people blessed with muscle mass, this may not be amazing accomplishment. But since I've spent most of my life looking like a toothpick, this is a miracle. I have a hard time building muscle mass and even a harder time keeping it. Physically, this is the best I've looked in eight years.

Now it's time to up the bench press by five pounds.

I hope my arms can take it.

Car Problems Can Be A Good Thing

Last night, as we pulled out of our driveway to run an errand, Marathon Girl's car died. Just shut off an rolled to a stop, the tires bumping softly against the curb.

I hate car problems, mostly because I'm mechanically inept. I have no idea where to start. Fix a computer or clean up someone's writing I can do without a problem. Fix a car? I can pop the hood. That's about it.

I felt fortunate that the car died by our house. Marathon Girl was able to take the two kids inside while I ... well ... popped the hood.

Using my great powers of deduction, I figured it was an electrical problem seeing how no lights or anything worked. Then I started going through the things that could be wrong: battery, battery cables, alternator, a short in the wiring. I stopped there. I figured it wasn't the battery as we had just replaced it this summer. There was some serious corrosion on the positive battery terminal. Maybe it wasn't getting a connection. That was about all I could think of. It was anything other than a battery or connection problem, I had no clue what to do.

A neighbor helped me push the car into the driveway. (Our driveway is on a rather steep incline) It took the two of us a minute but we were able to push the car off the road. The neighbor who helped was just about mechanically illiterate as me and after looking under the hood for a second, reached the same conclusions as I. Before we disconnected they battery, we tried to jump start it. Nothing.

By this time it was dark. I began removing some of the corrosion around the battery cable so I could disconnect it. Then another neighbor who lives in the house directly behind us and noticed the hood on my car up, stopped by to help.

I should point out I'm a lousy neighbor. Marathon Girl and I have lived in our house a little over a year now and I still haven't talked to or introduced myself to this neighbor or his wife. I wave to him when we're outside doing yard work at the same time or wave as we're going to and from work but that's about it. I don't even know his name.

After a brief introduction, turns out the neighbor in the house behind us is a mechanic. He returned a minute later with all sorts of cool diagnostic tools. Within five minutes he checked the battery and the fuses and everything seemed to be in order. In another two minutes he had disconnected the battery, cleaned the connection, and reconnected the cables back to the battery.

"Start the car," he said.

The car started right up.

Then the three of us stood around talking, getting to know each other better and doing general guy talk. (Think alley talk in King of the Hill, only without the beer.) The neighbor behind us mentioned he was in need of some gravel. So happens that Marathon Girl and I have a lot of gravel in an unused dog run that we're hoping to get rid of.

As inconvenient as the car problem was, I'm glad it happened. I finally got to meet and make friends with one of our neighbors -- something I should have done last year.

Now I need to open up to the neighbors on the East. I just hope it won't take some kind of car or other problem in order to know them better.

Bulgarian Memories, Part V

(Read Parts I, II, III, IV) On the way back to the village, I asked Lilyana how the people made their living here. She motioned to the acres of tobacco that was planted all around the village.

"Everyone has a stake in the tobacco crop," she said. "We all owns a part of the fields. If it's a good crop we survive. If not, we struggle to make it to next year." As we approached the village Lilyana pointed out the racks of tobacco leaves drying at the end of one road. "Once they're dry, we sell them to a Turkish tobacco company," she said. Then she hung her head and said quietly, "I hope you don't think I'm a bad member of your church for making money from tobacco. I follow the commandment not to smoke, but out here there is no other way to make even a little money."

Word of our presence must have spread throughout the village while we were gone. As we walked through the streets people came out on their porches to watch as we passed. A few waved and had Lilyana introduce us to them. One man, named Georgi, told us it was nice to see young people in the village even if it was only for a day. "There is no one here to carry on for us," he said.

Back at Lilyana's home, the grandmother was shooing two chickens out of the house. "I forgot to close the door," she said. "I'm too old to remember everything."

We helped Lilyana prepare lunch. I washed tomatoes, grapes, squash, and cucumber while Lilyana cut it. My companion made several trips to the well in the back yard to retrieve buckets of water.

The meal was delicious. Shopska salata (tomato and cucumber salad topped with feta cheese), pickeled cabbage, boiled squash, and grapes. Lilyana informed us that everything that we ate, with the exception of the cheese, was from their garden. The cheese was one of the few commodities they had to purchase.

I felt bad about eating. I knew that once winter arrived they would most likely survive off what they could preserve from the garden and fruit trees. However to refuse to eat or not to eat much would be a great insult to Lilyana so I ate every time she offered more food.

After we cleaned up lunch we sat in the shade and talked. We read from the scriptures and shared the message we had prepared. Then we played with Ivan and his dog out on the dusty roads and down by the river while Lilyana put her mother down for a nap.

And then it ended, as all things must. The alarm on my watch beeped and it was time to head back. The bus was scheduled to arrive in twenty minutes. We said our goodbyes to Lilyana and Ivan.

"Will you be back soon?" Lilyana asked.

"Someone will come in a month or two," I said.

"But will it be you and your companion?" she said.

"I don't know. But if I am asked to come, I will come again."

Lilyana and Ivan waved goodbye until we reached the crest of the hill. We waved and I took one last look at the village. Ivan's dog was running through the tobacco fields. The man in the donkey cart was heading back to the village, the cart full of tobacco leaves. Then we started our decent and the village disappeared from view.

As we walked the dusty road to the bus stop, my mind rolled over the events of the day and those we had met. I hoped to have another chance to see Lilyana and Ivan again.

The opportunity never came. Soon after I was transferred to another part of the country and in my final months, never made my way back to Tsarovo.

It's been eight years since I returned to the states. And though I have memories and friendships that will last a lifetime, my thoughts always return to that small village at the feet of the Rhodope mountains. I wonder how many of the residents have passed on. And I wonder about Lilyana and Ivan and if they are still live there or if the town has become nothing but empty homes surrounded by fields of tobacco.

(Read Parts I, II, III, IV)

Two kids are harder than one

Having two kids to care for is quite a bit more challenging than I thought it would be. With just Aidan, we could double team him as needed and keep him entertained better. Now with Steven, I'm learning that man-to-man coverage and it's a little more difficult.Aidan is taking advantage of the fact that we can't keep as close an eye on him as usual and doing typical Aidan things when we aren't looking like turning on the dishwasher or climbing on the table. We're adjusting to the change and hopefully will improve as the days pass.

Aidan was a little jealous when we first brought Steven home but now is quite content to have a little brother. Today, for example was the first time Aidan could hold him (with a little help, of course) without trying to poke or otherwise "play" with him. When we tried to pick up Steven to feed him, Aidan became upset that he couldn't hold him anymore. Maybe this means they'll become good friends when they're a little older.

***

For those who were looking for Bulgarian Memories, Part V, it's on its way. Just need some time to catch up with things here.

It's a boy!

Steven arrived on Columbus Day. He was 22 in. long and weighed 8 lbs. 5 oz.

Both mom and baby are doing well.

Bulgarian Memories Part IV

(Fourth in a five part series)

We followed Lilyana back to the street. This time I noticed tobacco leaves drying in stalls out on the streets. The leaves were turning brown and shriveling up. A few donkey carts were parked in front of homes. Their rubber tires were the only sign that the twentieth century had made it way to this village. I remember thinking the tires seemed oddly out of place.

As we passed homes, Lilyana told us who lived in each one. "Liubomir lives in this house," she said pointing to one across the street. There was a black cloth tied to the gate. "His wife passed away ten days ago." Then as if to put her death in some kind of context she said, "She was old. It was her time to go."

Ivan followed us with his dog which he gripped tightly by the collar. As we approached the edge of town the dog broke free and headed off to one of the tobacco files. Ivan chased after it.

Lilyana sighed. "He loves that dog so much. It's his only friend."

"Aren't their other children his age for him to play with?" I said.

"No, not here. Not in this village." Lilyana said. "Ivan and I are the youngest people here. Everyone else is over sixty. Most are in their seventies." Lilyana pointed to a house near the tobacco field. "There was an old widow that lived in that house Her name was Ivanka. She was my mother's best friend. She died two years ago. Now the house is empty." She motioned toward the other homes with her hand. "In another ten, fifteen years, most of these homes will be empty."

Years later I would learn that there are hundreds of small villages scattered throughout Southeastern Europe. Most of their population is over sixty and as the old people die, the villages die too.

As if reading my thought Lilyana continued. "The young people leave because there is no work. They go to bigger towns or leave the country entirely. There is no reason for them to stay."

"And why are you and Ivan here?" I asked.

Lilyana told us about an abusive marriage she left. "I had nowhere to go except here," she said.

We were walking up the side of a hill towards rows of grapevines. The vines were scattered and lying on the ground. Lilyana stopped at the first row. "These first two rows belong to our family," she said. She lifted up some leaves and picked large cluster of green grapes. She placed them in a bucket she had brought. I looked under leaves and helped pick some grapes. In a few minutes we had filled the bucket. "Years ago these vines produced lots of grapes," she said. "But now no one cares for them."

She stopped and looked up the hill. "See those tow rows near the top?" she said. Near the top of the hill were two rows of grape vines. Their leaves were dark and plants well cared for. An old couple was caring for the vines. "They get many grapes," she said. "They care for their vines.""Do you like living out here?" I said.

"Most of the time," she said. "I like the quiet." She scanned the fields and called for Ivan. A minute later Ivan and his dog came running toward the hill. "I wish Ivan had someone his age to play with."

"What about school?"

"The nearest school is 15 kilometers away. There is no bus that goes there. I teach Ivan at home." She sighed. "Sometimes I think about going back to my husband but then I remember the abuse. Maybe after my mother dies, I'll take Ivan to Plovdiv or Burgas and start over."

Ivan came running off with his dog. He grabbed my companion's hand and said, "Race you to the top?"

My companion, not understand what he had said looked back at me to translate.

"He wants to race you to the top of the hill," I said.

Ivan and my companion took off to the top. The dog followed closely behind, it's pink tongue hanging out of his mouth. We watched them run to the top. Ivan won and threw his arms in the air. He said something to my companion but that I knew he didn't understand. I was too far away to translate.

I picked up the bucket of grapes and walked with Lilyana to the top of the hill.

"It's beautiful here," I said. "There are no signs of the modern world. No power lines, roads or anything."

"Beautiful but hard," Lilyana said. "Everyone grows their own food to survive. The government pension the old people receive are worthless."

We reached the top of the hill. Ivan ran up to me. "Tell your fiend I want to race him down the hill," he said.

"Ivan says he's going to beat you to the bottom of the hill," I said. My companion looked tired. The run to the top of the hill had worn him out. Ivan tugged at his hand and they broke into a full run down the hill in a cloud of dust.

I looked around. To the south the hills grew into mountains. To the north the hills flattened and turned to planes. On the horizon was something that looked like a thin, sliver ribbon.

"What's that silver line?" I said.

"That's the highway that connects Sofia and Plovdiv," she said. "The one blot on your unspoiled view."

We walked down the hill toward toward Ivan and my companion. An old man drove a donkey cart past the grape vines. He waved as he passed us.

We headed back to the village.

(Coming Monday: Part V: The Conclusion.)

Seven days (or less!) and counting

Just returned from the doctor. If baby number two decides not to come on its own, by this time next week the doctor will induce. We're excited. (What? Were you expecting Part IV of Bulgarian Memories? Be patient. Unless the baby comes tomorrow, it will be up by the end of the week.)

Bulgarian Memories, Part III

Three dozen homes that make up Tsarovo are surrounded by white walls. Think of them as tall, cement privacy fences. The homes have large yards and most of space in the yard is used for gardens. The homes are relatively big and most had red tiled roofs. Most of my time Bulgaria was spent living in the countries two largest cities: Sofia and Plovidiv. I usually lived in one or two bedroom apartments. Though convenient in a lot of ways, I enjoyed the occasional visit to the smaller cities where people lived in something other than communist approved housing. Though many of these small villages lacked the conveniences of larger cities, I had always thought that people in these small villages had the advantage of more personal space and privacy and in some ways more freedom than those in larger cities. It was nice to see places with yards and gardens away from the noises of buses and thousands of people packed into large, concrete buildings.

The house wasn't hard to find. It was the last house on the street. Off to one side were rolling hills planted with tobacco and grapes. We rang the brass bell attached to the gate and waited. A moment later a middle aged woman appeared.

"You're here!" she exclaimed. "I'm glad you've come."

"Lilyana?" I said. From her reaction I assumed we had the right house but wanted to be sure. It was nice to meet someone who was happy to see us.

"Yes, yes! Please come in," she said. She opened the gate and let us into the yard. "Come, let me introduce you to my family."

We followed her down a wide path between the house and a cement wall. Overhanging the path were grape vines. Large clusters of green grapes hung from the vines. They looked sweet and juicy. Mixed in with the grapes were squash. Instead of planting them on the ground and letting their vines spread, the tendrils of these squash plants climbed up the lattice amid the grape vines. Squash plants hung down with the grapes. I had never seen anything like this.

I must have been staring at the plants with a funny look on my face because Lilyana asked if something was wrong.

"No, nothing's wrong," I said. "I've never seen squash growing amid grapes before. Back home the squash spreads out along the ground."

"We plant them this way to help conserve space," she said. "There isn't room to let things spread out all over the ground."

The path led to a large back yard maybe a quarter of acre big. There was a small open space with grass. An old wooden table and chairs were outside. The rest of the yard was converted into a garden and from what I could see there was mostly tomatoes, cucumbers, and cabbage. Each row was separated by small stone paths. Several chickens were clucking and walking between the rows looking for bugs.

An old woman with white fizzy hair emerged from the back door. Her back was hunched and she hobbled in the direction of the garden. She called out and shook a pail of grain she carried. The chickens responding to either the sound of her voice of the sound of the grain in the bucket ran toward her, clucking loudly. The woman threw the grain in wide arcs and the chickens spread out to gobble it up.

The old woman was introduced to us as Lilyana's mother. Her name was Mila and she seemed glad to see us.

"Have you seen Ivan?" Lilyana asked.

"Ivan? He's out in the field playing with the dog," the woman said. "He should be back soon."

"I told him not to leave. He knew we were having guests," Lilyana said. She excused herself and walked out a back gate to find him. Each call for her son grew fainter and fainter.

Mila told us to sit in one of the wooden chairs next to the table. She sat next to us and asked us about home and our families and what we thought of Bulgaria. We answered her questions and tried to find out as much about her as we could. As it turned out Mila was in her late 80s and had been born and raised in this Tsarovo. Her husband, who had died ten years previously, was also born and raised here. She told us that she rarely left the village now that she was older. "I used to travel to the city but not anymore. This is my home," she said. "I have lived here and I will die here."

A dog came running through the back gate, followed by a young boy. The dog was a mutt, and looked to be a cross between at least five different breeds. It ran up to us and tried to climb on our laps and lick our faces.

"Ivan," Mila said. "Control your dog!"

Ivan called to the dog and it ran back to him then darted around the garden chasing the chickens. The chicken ran along the narrow paths of the garden. One chick fluttered in the air a foot or so off the ground then crashed headlong into the wall, momentarily stunning it.

"Ivan!"

Ivan grabbed the dog by the caller and chained him to a post near the table. The dog strained at the chain when a chicken walked by. Eventually it lay underneath the table and rested its head on its paws.

Ivan seemed excited to see us. He told us how he and the dog were playing down by the river. "I've taught him to fetch anything I throw," he said proudly, "even small rocks." As if to illustrate his point, he picked up a small stone from the garden. The dog perked up when he saw Ivan pick up the rock. Mila made a ticking sound with her tongue -- the sound of general displeasure -- and Ivan set the rock down.

Lilyana came through the back gate. There were beads of sweat on her forehead as if she had been walking quickly to stay with Ivan and his dog.

"I see you've met Ivan," she said.

"He has a lot of energy," I said. "I have a brother about his age. He runs around just like Ivan."

"You have a brother?" said Ivan, "Maybe he can come and play with me." There was an excitement at the prospect of having a playmate I found odd. But before I could say anything to Ivan Lilyana was unhooking the dog from it's chain.

"Since this is your first time in our village," she said. "You must let me show you around."